


heaven is a place on earth with you

by behzaintfunny



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Dorks in Love, Ficlet, Juventus Turin, M/M, Sharing a Bed, Sleepy Cuddles, Sleepy Kisses, Soft!!!, Sorry Not Sorry, World Cup
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-26
Updated: 2018-06-26
Packaged: 2019-05-29 02:30:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15063059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/behzaintfunny/pseuds/behzaintfunny
Summary: "Under the cover of darkness and of plush, he [Paulo] has never felt so sickeningly in love with him."





	heaven is a place on earth with you

**Author's Note:**

  * For [selenedaydreams](https://archiveofourown.org/users/selenedaydreams/gifts).



The distant roaring of car engines reverberates in the big living room. The balcony door is open ajar but Paulo has no mind to get up from his favorite spot on the white couch and close it. Cold, midnight air welcomes itself in the room like a peculiarly mean intruder. Paulo's hand quickly reaches for the black plush blanket that has been covering his feet. He pulls it up so that it covers him wholly, like a fish submerged in the depths of water. It is only him and the soft shine of his phone.

It is, until it is not.

Idly, he hears gentle footsteps making their way to where he is leisuring. He barely notices them, too entranced into scrolling the social medias. He looks through photos of fans arriving in Russia, shirts that are baby blue and white, and thousands of smiles that are meant to encourage them. Though, he is hardly positive he should even feel the part of the equation. This, peeking into the Argentine fans' World Cup adventures, is likely the most action he is going to get this summer. He furrows his brow, blaming the chilly air.

Truth be told, to some, it would come as a surprise that he, the eternal serious resting face, has the capacity to _feel_ things. Sometimes, he has to double check himself.

That is where Douglas comes into play.

He has awoken such vivid feelings in him that it often leaves him perplexed. Before, he wasn't sure he was ever going to love. Now, he cannot imagine losing that precious feeling. As his thumb caresses the light, dimly lit screen, he remembers how soft Douglas's fingers feel on his skin. It is surreal almost, how someone's hands can make him feel so many things. Gigi would joke, back in the day, that it would take a miracle for someone to overthrow the solid walls that seperate Paulo's mind from the world.

It is actually very simple. Paulo is a footballer. He gets paid for the abilities of his body, not his head. People remember his toned legs or the iconic tattoo that adorns his arm, not the things he says. He taps a ball into a net with his feet, not with the sincerity of his words.

Paulo is only a footballer. He doesn't have to _feel_.

Gigi has endlessly tried to prove him wrong. They talked over coffee and over wine respectively about losses and victories, glory and tragedy. Paulo knows nothing of tragedy, not yet, only what Gigi has told him under the cover of night. He would say that football is a sport that is centered around feeling. He would feel for the fans that scream his name, for the soft grass under his feet, for his parents back at home who cry with pride every time he is seen on the pitch. Paulo would look at him, confused. He would try to understand, really, to know what the beauty behind feeling really is. It would leave him annoyed, uneasy wrinkles quickly engraving atop his forehead. Gigi would sigh and the neverending cycle would continue.

That was the past. The future, on the contrary, is much more fathomable.

Paulo finds himself yearning to hear the joyful sound of Douglas's laugh. He craves to laugh with him, the grinning softening his rather harsh features and making him seem far more innocent than he is. They fall asleep like this unsurprisingly often, Paulo cradled in Douglas's arms like a baby at its mother's side. He'd never admit that he longs for nightfall every passing day, knowing it means he'd be soothed to sleep by the rhythmic beating of his lover's heart. He craves the warmth that radiates from his arms when they embrace him and the pleasure that comes with it.

Happiness is where the love is, his mother would tell him. _"Find someone that makes you happy! Find someone that will love you unconditionally!"_ As she would pat his hair to make an emphasis, he would pull a grimace and say he doesn't understand.

He doesn't know when he closed his eyes until a gentle caress on his forehead awakens him. His eyes open with curiosity and are met with such shine that, for a second, he ponders if this is Heaven.

It's not Heaven. It's _his Douglas._

"I didn't mean to wake you." Douglas says softly, "You were doing that thing with your face again."

Paulo notices how there is no traffic in the distance. It's just them.

"Hmm, what thing?"

Douglas's hand wanders down the blanket to clasp Paulo's own. He pulls on it gently, beckoning Paulo to join him in the bedroom instead. When he finally gets up from his favourite spot on the ginormous couch, Douglas covers his body with the blanket. They walk together like this, Paulo fearing for Douglas to be cold but not voicing his thoughts out loud. Douglas lays him down on the mattress like this, thoroughly covered in the soft material like a present on Christmas day ready to be opened. Douglas pulls the black curtains open and welcomes the starlit sky into their bedroom. The bed dips slightly under his weight when he regains his place under the light sheets. Paulo idly stares at the ceiling, still dazed after sleep had taken him into her embrace. He feels Douglas caressing his cheek in reverence, reserved and private. His thumb touches the dip inbetween his brows and presses delicately.

"You're doing it again." Douglas mumbles softly, "Get ahold of yourself. It makes you look so much wiser."

This piques Paulo's interest and causes him to shuffle on the bed in attempt to face Douglas.

"What's the problem with being wise?" Paulo asks, dumbfounded, which only causes him to furrow his brow even more, "It's nothing serious, _coranzoncito_. I always look like this."

Douglas giggles and it's the single most precious thing. His hand quickly finds way to his lips, restraining him from any further laughter. It's a shame, really. Paulo was enjoying himself.

He finally closes the little space left between them with the merest touch of lips. He can still feel Douglas smiling into the kiss, as though he never even noticed he was being kissed. Paulo feels awkward when he notes he is still being kept away from reaching out to touch Douglas by the blanket. It barely matters. As the kiss deepens, Douglas's hand curls against the back of his neck. He can feel him playing with his hair.

Under the cover of darkness and of plush, he has never felt so sickeningly in love with him.

As they pull away, Douglas brings him into an embrace. He can feel his warm breath on the skin of his neck. Soon, he fears for overheating. Douglas looks up at him and bites his lip nervously.

"Maybe you really always look like this." Douglas whispers, a smile beginning to grace his features, "My little _Canarinho_."

The night swallows the uncontrolled laughter emerging from both men as they pathetically attempt to regain their breathing. The grin never leaves Douglas's face; Douglas, who is so embarassingly proud of himself that Paulo idly realizes he'd never hear the end of it.

That's alright. He wouldn't have it any other way.

**Author's Note:**

> A result of a revelation I had whilist watching Argentina - Nigeria with Teo that "fuck! dybala is canarinho!". You're all welcome. Love you, Teo! Thanks for being the greatest friend and awakening this random inspiration in me!
> 
> Title is from "Video games" by Lana Del Rey


End file.
